Chapter 6 – Across the Lake, Toward the Light

The train screeched gently as it slowed, steam curling like silver ribbon outside the windows. Celene leaned slightly forward, watching as Hogsmeade Station came into view—a modest, time-worn platform glowing with enchanted lanterns. Its stonework was old but solid, covered in moss and soft magical wards that shimmered faintly to those who could see them.

She stepped out into the cooling evening air, her boots clicking softly against the wet stone. Dozens of students, all just as wide-eyed, were gathering in uncertain groups. The platform was smaller than she expected—but not the feeling. There was weight here. Old magic in the very air.

"Firs' years! This way now! All firs' years!"

The voice was unmistakable—deep, booming, and somehow warmer than the lanterns overhead. Celene turned to see a giant of a man waving a lantern the size of a cauldron.

He must be Hagrid.

"Right then—Celene Fawley, is it?" Hagrid asked as she passed, eyes twinkling. "Heard yer dad's the one who built that floatin' laptop… clever, that. Got it to run spells like a kettle brews tea, he said."

Celene blinked. "Yes, that sounds like him."

"Brilliant. Boats're waitin'. Mind the slope!"

They followed a lantern-lit path down to the lake. The air grew colder, the mist thickening as water came into view—black and vast, rippling like liquid glass beneath a star-sprinkled sky.

The boats sat low in the water, each perfectly still, awaiting four passengers.

"Let's grab that one," Linnea said, appearing beside her with Arden in tow. "Before Cormac shows up and takes up all the space with his storytelling."

Celene gave a small nod and stepped into the boat with them. The wood creaked slightly beneath her weight, but the vessel didn't shift. It felt… steady. Alive.

A moment later, the boats all began to move—without oars, without wind.

They glided across the water as if drawn by invisible threads. The surface of the lake was impossibly still—so smooth it reflected the stars above without a ripple, as though the sky had sunk to meet them. Mist drifted across the water like soft ghosts, curling around the lanterns hanging from the bows of each boat.

Then, as they rounded a bend in the lake, Hogwarts Castle came into view.

Celene sat forward, her breath catching. For a moment, she didn't speak. None of them did.

The castle stood high atop a black cliff on the far side of the water, its base rooted deep into the rock like an ancient tree. Countless towers rose from its massive frame—seven main ones, by Celene's quick count. Some were narrow and spire-like, with pointed steeples. Others were broad and domed, their rooftops lined with copper that glowed softly in the starlight. There were bridges, arched and sweeping, that connected towers across impossible gaps. Ribbons of ivy curled around stone columns as if the castle had grown itself.

The windows glowed gold and amber, as if the building breathed with light.

She could see carvings in the outer walls, too far to read but unmistakably runes, winding around archways and high buttresses. Some sparkled faintly, as if aware they were being watched.

"This place is... alive," she whispered.

Linnea was still staring, wide-eyed. "It looks like it's watching us back."

"It is," Celene murmured, more to herself than anyone else.

The turrets and towers stood like sentinels, each a guardian of old knowledge and secrets untold. Somewhere, wind swept through open archways and stirred banners she couldn't quite see. Above it all, an immense central tower—wider than the others and crowned with a star-shaped dome—gleamed with enchantments she could almost feel from here.

Her medallion, hidden beneath her robes, warmed faintly. Not hot. Not uncomfortable. Just… present.

As if it recognized the place.

Then a splash—a yelp—a commotion behind them.

Cormac Wexley had stood in his boat to wave at someone across the water. Predictably, the boat had tilted—and he was now flailing wildly in the lake.

"He's going in," Linnea said, almost delighted. "And—there he goes."

A collective gasp rippled across the boats as Cormac vanished beneath the surface.

Seconds later, a massive tentacle rose from the water, curled gently around him, and lifted him out like a particularly confused duckling.

Dripping and sputtering, Cormac was deposited back into his boat—soaked, stunned, and completely silent for once.

Arden held back a laugh. Linnea did not.

Celene, oddly, found herself smiling. "The lake has excellent judgment."

When the boats reached the shore, they were met by more lanterns and a narrow, winding path that led up toward the castle. It was steeper than it looked. The lanterns flickered as they climbed, casting long shadows on the stone.

Celene kept glancing upward.

Closer now, the castle was impossibly vast. The stones hummed with magic so old it no longer needed words. Runes were carved into the stone above windows, along staircases, beneath iron grates. The great oak doors at the front opened not mechanically, but deliberately, as though the building itself had decided to welcome them.

And waiting at the entrance stood a tall woman in emerald-green robes, her mouth firm, her gaze sharper than any wand.

"First years," said Professor McGonagall. "Welcome to Hogwarts."

Her eyes swept across the group like a hawk surveying a field. When they landed on Celene, there was no smile—but there was a flicker of interest.

"We will proceed to the Great Hall shortly for your Sorting Ceremony. You will form a line—two by two."

As the students nervously shuffled into formation, Celene took her place beside Arden. Linnea found her spot just behind them.

Inside the castle, golden light spilled down from enchanted sconces. The stones were warm to the touch. Every footstep echoed like it had been waiting for centuries to be heard again.

And in the air… something stirred.

Not just dust. Not just magic.

Something watching.

Something remembering.

Celene walked forward, steady, heart calm, eyes open.

Whatever came next—she was ready to meet it.